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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25875415">And Eat It, Too</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesparklingone/pseuds/thesparklingone'>thesparklingone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>For Then, For Now, For Always: Estimeric Week 2020 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Cock Sundae, Estimeric Week (Final Fantasy XIV), Estimeric Week 2020, Kitchen Sex, Licking, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, Yeah you read that right, bottom!estinien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:08:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,228</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25875415</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesparklingone/pseuds/thesparklingone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Slowly, Aymeric turns to face his lover, a devilish grin on his face, those sky-blue eyes alight with mischief.</p><p>“Hungry for cake, are you, Estinien?”</p><p>(Written for the Day 5 prompt, "Food.")</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>For Then, For Now, For Always: Estimeric Week 2020 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Estimeric Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>And Eat It, Too</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>There had to be at least one Estimeric Week day devoted to shameless porn, right? Please don't read this at work.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘Tis Estinien’s nameday, and Aymeric is baking him a cake. A chocolate cake, with cream and cherries. As Estinien’s own culinary expertise can largely be summed up as, “impale food; apply flame,” he is watching with a quiet fascination, leaning over Aymeric’s shoulder while he steadily mixes the dark, rich batter with a wooden spoon.</p><p>He also just simply likes to watch Aymeric. Watch the way his glossy black hair falls across his eyes as he bows his head forward. Watch the way his long eyelashes flutter as he concentrates on his work. Watch the way his strong arms flex, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, as he tips the bowl to pour out the mixture into the waiting tins. Hells, with the face on that man Estinien can hardly understand anyone who <em>doesn’t</em> like to watch him, not that he wants any competition.</p><p>“This is ready to go in the oven,” Aymeric says. His voice is like that chocolate too, Estinien thinks, deep and rich and dark. He loves the way it pours across his senses when he speaks, heavy and warm, the sound alone enough to raise gooseflesh on the back of his neck. “Pray, open the door for me, would you?”</p><p>Estinien does as he is asked, and Aymeric slides all three tins inside.</p><p>He puts his hands on his hips, and Estinien’s eye wanders to the curve of his backside. “They should take about a bell. In the meantime, I can start on the fillings.”</p><p>He’s organized all the things he needs: candied cherries, melted chocolate, heavy cream for whipping. With a bowl and whisk Aymeric sets to briskly beating the cream, slowly thickening it into peaks. Estinien watches that too. Watches the way the white liquid splashes onto his long, slender fingers.</p><p>Aymeric pauses to push a lock of hair out of his eyes, and Estinien smiles.</p><p>“You’ve got cream on your ear, Aymeric,” he says.</p><p>“Do I?”</p><p>“Oh yes,” Estinien tells him. “Right on the very tip.”</p><p>Grinning, shimmying up behind his lover, Estinien parts his lips and drags his tongue in one long, slow motion all along the delicate line of the cartilage, the way he knows Aymeric very much likes, to tenderly suck on the fine, elegant point.</p><p>Aymeric practically squeals.</p><p>“Es<em>tinien!</em>” he hisses, trembling suddenly. Estinien catches him ‘round the waist, pulling him close.</p><p>“Aye, Aymeric?”</p><p>“You are <em>not</em>—”</p><p>But he is. He is and he holds his knight against him, again running his lips along that lovely ear, nipping sharp little bites all along the sensitive skin. He tastes ever so slightly of salt—the heat from the oven, Estinien thinks, drawing just the slightest bit of sweat onto his lover’s skin. The thought makes his belly pulse with warmth, as does Aymeric’s indrawn breath and stifled groan. He feels the shudder beneath his hands as Aymeric falters. The whisk clatters where he drops it, bracing his hands against the countertop instead. Estinien caresses Aymeric’s stomach through the fine linen of his shirt, enjoying the flutter of the taut muscles beneath his fingers as his hand slides lower, and he grins against Aymeric’s neck when his palm finds the telltale bulge already growing between his legs.</p><p>“I can think of something else I want for my nameday,” he says.</p><p>“Now?” Aymeric asks. Delightful tension coils all through his body where Estinien leans against it, from his broad, warm shoulders to his beautifully tight arse.</p><p>Estinien reaches forward to dip two of his fingers into the bowl of cream, then presses them to the seam of Aymeric’s lips.</p><p>“Right now.”</p><p>Aymeric’s laugh rumbles deep in his throat, and Estinien feels the cream smear when he speaks against the press of his fingers.</p><p>“Well. A nameday does only come once a year…”</p><p>Then his tongue shoots out to engulf Estinien’s fingers and he throws his head back to moan like some wild animal. He <em>loves</em> this, loves the hot, wet suck of Aymeric’s wicked, perfect mouth. Every time Aymeric does this to him it burns up his veins like a lightning crystal struck in his teeth, and every time he begs for it, for the way it always makes him instantly, achingly aroused.</p><p>“…Unlike dragoons,” Aymeric finishes, releasing his fingers with a kiss to their tips.</p><p>Estinien pants, forehead shoved into the back of his neck, breath hard in his throat.</p><p>Other things hard in his trousers.</p><p>Slowly, Aymeric turns to face his lover, a devilish grin on his face, those sky-blue eyes alight with mischief.</p><p>“Hungry for cake, are you, Estinien?”</p><p>“Very,” comes the response, and Aymeric is on him, both hands against his face, pulling him into a ferocious kiss. Estinien tilts his head to the side, inviting Aymeric’s tongue into his mouth, letting his eyes fall shut, in full surrender to his lord commander. Aymeric’s lips are soft and full, clever and skilled, as sweet as the cherries on the counter behind him. Reaching between them, Estinien’s fingers find the laces of Aymeric’s trousers and pull them loose, letting them sag around his knees. Freed from the constraints, Aymeric’s cock stands tall, and Estinien takes its hot length in his hand, stroking firmly.</p><p>Aymeric moans and breaks their kiss, throwing his head back with the pleasure of it, the heels of his palms bracing against the counter. Estinien follows him forward, the steady rhythm of his hand never faltering, pressing his mouth against the column of Aymeric’s throat to suck and nip a line of candy-red marks down to the collar of his shirt. Aymeric begins to undo the buttons, and Estinien follows the trail of skin steadily being exposed, running his mouth down the perfect cleft of Aymeric’s sternum in his unbearably muscular chest, sinking to his knees as he kisses the length of his abdomen. When he gets to where he holds his lover’s cock, Aymeric stops him with a hand on his cheek, tilting up his chin.</p><p>“Are you not forgetting something?” he asks, eyes glittering with some feral impulse.</p><p>Estinien lifts an eyebrow at him. “Am I?”</p><p>Wordlessly, the most smug grin imaginable plastering his face, Aymeric reaches behind him and hands Estinien the bowl of whipped cream.</p><p>Estinien stares at it, desire like hot syrup sliding down his spine to pool at its base and bloom between his legs. “You filthy bastard.”</p><p>“Guilty,” Aymeric replies, batting his fine, black eyelashes.</p><p>They have never done such a thing before, but the twitch in Estinien’s own cock at the very thought is all the encouragement he needs to try. He scoops out a measure of cream and smears it all over Aymeric’s erection, finishing with a nice, fat dollop right on top where it stands at proud attention.</p><p>As enticing as it looks, it is clearly missing something.</p><p>“Give me the cherries,” he says, holding out his hand, and Aymeric begins to snicker, a blush creeping up his cheeks, but he does as he’s been asked. The dragoon plucks the roundest, reddest, most alluring of them that he can find and deftly places it atop the little pile of cream he’s balanced at the very tip of Aymeric’s cock.</p><p>Then he sits back on his haunches and admires his handiwork.</p><p>“Happy nameday,” Aymeric says.</p><p>“’Tis a good start,” Estinien agrees.</p><p>He leans forward and flicks the cherry into his mouth with his tongue, catching it with his teeth, leaving a little red stain in the divot on the cream where it had lain. Looking straight up at Aymeric, into his eyes like bluest morning, he grins and bites into it, open mouthed, letting the juice drip down his chin.</p><p>“By the <em>Fury</em>, Estinien,” Aymeric hisses, eyes fixed on the sight. Estinien holds his gaze, unblinking, as he slowly chews and swallows, sweet little morsels on his tongue, sliding down his throat. Aymeric is panting now, chest heaving up and down, and Estinien hasn’t even put his mouth on him yet.</p><p>This is shortly going to change.</p><p>Slowly, agonizingly, Estinien draws his tongue all along the underside in one long line from base to tip, smearing cream into his mouth, drawing strangled groans from Aymeric’s throat. At the end, he pauses, briefly savoring the feel of Aymeric’s shuddering anticipation, then he swallows his cock in one fluid motion, burying his nose into the thatch of black hair at the foundation.</p><p>The noise Aymeric makes is <em>unholy</em>.</p><p>Estinien revels in it. Revels in the slow retreat and advance of his mouth, tongue pulsing along that smooth, hot length. Revels in the strange new taste of it—familiar salt and skin mixed with sweet, rich cream that he can’t quite swallow, that leaks out the corners of his mouth and drips onto Aymeric’s bare thighs. Revels in the sound—Aymeric is moaning like a Coerthan wind, fingers fisted in Estinien’s hair, calling his name like a litany. It makes Estinien’s own cock ache, still stuffed into his fastened trousers, so with one last flick of his tongue he releases his knight and stands, leaning forward to kiss him on the mouth, sharing the taste of cherries and cream.</p><p>“I think we’re overdressed,” he says.</p><p>Aymeric hardly needs the encouragement. He shrugs off the open shirt and kicks off his trousers, tossing his clothing onto the floor. Estinien barely has time to catch the absolutely ravenous gleam in his eye before he’s surging forward, shoving his hands up under the hem of his tunic, pulling it over his head to discard it as he crushes their mouths together. Then his hands are at Estinien’s waistband, yanking laces open and pushing the loose cloth down his legs, making Estinien hop awkwardly on one foot as he tries to get them off while Aymeric is kissing him. And he can’t help but laugh, delighted, as Aymeric kisses below his mouth, licking at the sticky cherry juice that has spilled down his throat, his hands gripping his biceps so hard Estinien briefly wonders if his fingertips will leave bruises in his skin. He won’t mind if they do. He’ll look at them later and think, <em>mine, mine, mine</em>.</p><p>With a grunt Aymeric spins them to reverse their positions, so it’s Estinien who is shoved against the counter while Aymeric sucks at the smooth curve of skin where his neck meets his shoulder.</p><p>“My turn,” he growls, and oh, that voice, that velvet voice in that pitch, heavy with lust, like Estinien himself is the meal and Aymeric a starving man. Which he may well be at this point, as he reaches for the bowl of cream, scoops up a great handful of it, and smears it across Estinien’s chest.</p><p>“Oh, Halone,” the dragoon calls, head lolling back.</p><p>Aymeric immediately bends to drag his famed silver tongue over Estinien’s skin, following the lines of the scars that he knows by heart. He grabs Estinien’s cock in a vice-hard grip and it’s all he can do to stay on his feet, sending a half-formed prayer of thanks to the solid countertop behind him that is the only reason he’s not fallen on his arse. Aymeric’s mouth and hand work Estinien’s burning skin, thumbing at his dripping crown, sucking his nipples hard enough to hurt. His legs shake and his cock throbs, fingers woven through Aymeric’s mop of sable locks, incandescent with lust. With one last stroke of Estinien’s cock enough to draw a whimper from his lips, Aymeric releases him, kissing the corner of his mouth.</p><p>“Turn around,” he says, voice low, and Estinien can do naught but obey, though, in all honesty, when they’re together like this, he never wants to refuse Aymeric. He’d give Aymeric anything, everything, he’s already handed over his heart but he’d give him his soul too, on a silver platter with a cherry on top, if only the lord commander would ask. He braces his elbows against the counter, leaning forward, feeling the press of Aymeric’s body behind him, the hot slide of his erection between his thighs.</p><p>With one hand, Aymeric pushes Estinien’s hair over one shoulder, out of the way, his calloused thumb warm against the dragoon’s neck. With the other, he reaches around him, and takes the bowl of melted chocolate. Estinien sucks his breath in through his teeth.</p><p>He can’t see it, but he can <em>feel</em> it, where the smooth liquid pours against his skin between his shoulder blades, and oh Fury, oh Twelve, the sensation alone has him shaking, fingers digging into the countertop. The chocolate is pooling in the small of his back, running down his sides and waist. He can hear the patter where droplets fall on the floor, and heat shoots into Estinien’s groin, making his already aching cock throb harder. Then Aymeric lowers his head, tongue tracing lines of dripping chocolate, lips whisper-soft and warm, and he’s not sure he’s ever been so hard in his life. There’s a spot just beneath Estinien’s ribs that’s startlingly sensitive, and Aymeric slides his tongue along it, drawing circles with the tip, robbing Estinien of his coherence.</p><p>“Delicious,” Aymeric says, his voice all made of smoke. “What a treat you are, Estinien.” The dragoon bites back a moan, knees trembling, enough of his weight on his arms to make it slightly painful where his elbows grind against the countertop. Aymeric sucks and bites and rubs his hands along Estinien’s ribs, smearing the chocolate against his skin, and every touch of mouth and fingers pulls a sound from Estinien’s throat, ragged and pleading, hungry and not yet sated.</p><p>At last Aymeric leans forward over his shoulder, and kisses the tip of his ear.</p><p>“I must needs fetch the oil,” he murmurs and Estinien nods, gasping for breath. Then the press and warmth of him is gone, leaving cold air in its place. Estinien lets his head hang, the white curtain of his hair falling around his face. Regardless of precaution, there are streaks of chocolate in it, to go with the drying and sticky bits of cream on his chest. He is a mess, and he doesn’t even care.</p><p>The soft pad of feet on tile heralds Aymeric’s return. There’s a clink as the bottle of cottonseed oil is set on the counter by his arm and Aymeric is against him again, skin smooth along his back, lips sweet against his neck.</p><p>“How do you want it?” he asks. “’Tis your nameday, after all.”</p><p>Estinien considers. Feels the hard, hot press of Aymeric’s cock along the curve of his arse. His breath is short in his chest, anticipation winding him tight and longing. His unfocused eyes land on a little bottle behind the bowl of cherries, familiar, half full.</p><p>Birch syrup.</p><p>Estinien licks his lips.</p><p>“On your back,” he says. “On the floor. I want to see your face.”</p><p>The curve of Aymeric’s smile against his skin sends shivers racing down his spine. “As you wish,” he replies.</p><p>He piles their discarded clothing behind his head, a makeshift pillow, then Aymeric sprawls on his back, still with that wicked smile on his exquisite face. Like this Estinien can take his time to really look, look at that fine, strong body, the powerful arms and chest that heft the sword and the shield and draw the bow, that narrow waist with the hips he’ll be straddling in not-much-longer, the elegant legs, corded with muscle. A most indulgent feast. Estinien takes the oil and the syrup, sets them down beside Aymeric, who’s raising an eyebrow at the second bottle. But he says nothing, content to wait.</p><p>Estinien kneels, throws one of his own long, lean legs across his knight, watches Aymeric watching him, his pale eyes following each movement, each flex and ripple and bend. He settles into place atop the most beautiful man in Ishgard, eyes him up and down, from the thick erection curving toward his navel to the inky halo of curls around his head, and smiles. There are smudges of chocolate at the corners of his mouth and along his bottom lip, and Estinien leans forward to kiss him, to taste in Aymeric’s mouth what’s still smeared all over his own back. It’s thick and rich, sweet and bitter, and it makes him ache deep in the pit of his belly. Then he sits back and picks up the syrup, hefting it in his hand. Aymeric laughs, rolls his head to the side, gazing up at Estinien through heavy lashes as he slowly stretches and arches his back; smooth as heavy cream.</p><p>“You never take syrup in your tea,” he says and now his smile is languid, almost drunken, but the tension in his thighs, the way his cock quivers against Estinien’s backside belies his taut expectation of what is to come.</p><p>“’Tis a special occasion,” the dragoon replies.</p><p>Estinien tilts the bottle; pours the syrup out in two diagonal lines, marking his treasure with a sticky-sweet <em>X</em>. It drips along the planes of Aymeric’s chest, pooling in the contours of his muscles, gooey drops of it sliding steadily toward the floor. For a moment, Estinien merely watches, his breath hitching in his throat. Aymeric—beautiful, powerful Aymeric—is splayed out before him and covered in syrup like a stack of hotcakes. Unconsciously, Estinien’s fingers flit to touch himself, feather-light, a bolt of pleasure searing through his pelvis. He begins to tighten his grip, then forces himself to stop, panting with the effort. If he starts, he’ll go ‘til he’s finished, and he’s not ready to end this just yet. Aymeric laughs at him, recognizing the dilemma. </p><p>“You only do this to yourself, Estinien,” he says, rolling his hips against the dragoon’s. Estinien groans when the shaft of his cock brushes his arse. He glares down at Aymeric, who merely laughs again.</p><p>“I still haven’t taken my tea,” he growls. He pitches forward to kiss the spot the X marks, dragging his teeth across Aymeric’s skin, mixing sugar with its salt. Beneath him, Aymeric is no longer laughing, gasping instead, back arching. His head tosses against the pile of their clothing, his hips lift to grind against Estinien’s, and oh, it won’t be long now. But first he wants to taste, to lick and suck and nip, to roll thick syrup in his mouth while his tongue flickers across a nipple. Aymeric’s fingers slide into his hair at his temples, pushing it back from his face to keep it from draping in the sticky mess, but the attempt is futile. Estinien’s hair is coarse and unruly, it falls lose over the backs of Aymeric’s hands and trails into the birch syrup, matting into ropes.</p><p>Perhaps later, Aymeric will wash it for him.</p><p>For now, he doesn’t care. All he cares about is the knight beneath him, the warmth of his perfect, shivering body, the rich timbre of his voice as he calls Estinien’s name. The syrup is tacky on his chin and the tip of his nose, and he sits up, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, skin pulling with the friction. Aymeric’s chest shines in the sunlight that spills through the windows, glittering where the drying syrup is slowly crystallizing. He looks strewn with little gemstones, diamonds and quartz and tiny, edible crystals of light.</p><p>Their eyes meet, both panting. Aymeric’s flicker toward the oil.</p><p>Estinien slides backward, legs spread across Aymeric’s thighs now, and picks it up. Again he pours, thick, slick cottonseed oil, not caring if it’s too much, hells, they’re already both messes anyway. It coats Aymeric’s waiting cock and Estinien wraps his hand around it, Aymeric reaching to help, and together they slather it all over him, Aymeric grunting and gasping as Estinien finishes the job with a jaunty flick of his wrist.</p><p>Now, Estinien can settle himself over his lover, guiding him with his hand, while Aymeric grips his thighs, his oily palm slipping along the skin. He presses into Estinien, pushing carefully past the threshold, and Estinien can’t prevent the long, sweet sigh that parts his lips, jaw going slack, a shudder rolling through him like thunder. Like this, he lets his head loll back, sinking into the pleasure of it. Aymeric holds him in place until he can move again, ease his way down to the very base, full and burning all over.</p><p>He pauses, inhaling slowly through his nose. His eyes fall shut and for a moment he simply lets himself be still, lets himself be lost in the fullness and heat. Aymeric strokes the inside of his thigh, whisper soft, as he slides his thumbs up the seam of where his legs meet his body. Taking Estinien’s hips firmly in his grasp, he begins to thrust up into him.</p><p>“You should see yourself,” Aymeric murmurs. His voice runs down Estinien’s spine like syrup, meets the hot pulse of lust in his hips. “Covered in cream and chocolate, good enough to eat.”</p><p>“I’m the one—<em>ah</em>—who did the eating,” he manages to retort, though the bite of it is diminished by a loud groan. Aymeric simply laughs and thrusts harder, sending sparks through his groin, making his back arch. His composure is slipping, his hands are shaking. He digs his nails into Aymeric’s belly, slick with the oil, and moans with the sensation of it, body wracked with pleasure. They move in practiced rhythm, one lover against another, sweet and and smooth like cherries and chocolate.</p><p>“Gods, Aymeric,” he gasps at last. “I—”</p><p>“Tell me you’re close,” Aymeric says.</p><p>“I—I—” His voice breaks. “I’m so close,” he manages to finish, more of a whimper in it than he wants to admit. And Aymeric’s hand is on him, the one still slick with oil, moving in long, skilled strokes. He knows every secret of Estinien’s body, took great care and delight in learning them all, all that knowledge on full display as he fists his fingers around Estinien’s swollen cock, squeezing and rubbing and brushing his thumb along the underside ridge. For what feels like both an agonizing eternity and a split second all at once, Estinien hovers at the precipice. Then he’s gone, Aymeric’s name on his lips as his climax claims him.</p><p>Aymeric digs his fingers into Estinien’s hips, shoving up into him with a growl, seeking his own release, and oh, thank Halone it doesn’t take long, because Estinien doesn’t think he can take another bit of it, overstimulated and shaking, and finally, finally Aymeric cries his name and arches his back, lost in orgasm. He shivers beneath Estinien, panting for breath, then stills.</p><p>Estinien sags back on his haunches and Aymeric lets his arms fall, palms up, to the floor. For a few moments they remain together like that, catching their breaths.</p><p>Eventually, they have to move. Estinien shifts his weight from side to side, looks down at Aymeric, now covered in more than just the remnants of the syrup, and snorts a laugh.</p><p>“We are fucking filthy,” he says.</p><p>“Aye,” Aymeric agrees. “’Twas indeed a filthy fuck.”</p><p>Estinien rolls his eyes and cuffs him gently across the temple.</p><p>The kitchen is a wreck—cream and chocolate spattered over the counter, the cabinets, and the floor, rivulets of syrup and oil coating the tiles. Estinien’s hair is a shambles, tangled and matted, oil and semen dripping out of his arse, and Aymeric is sticky and greasy. They size each other up, evaluating up the damage, and Estinien catches the twitch in Aymeric’s lip, the twinkle in his eye, and gods help him he dissolves into laughter, cheeks burning. He braces himself against the counter, snorting with it, then sniffs the air.</p><p>“Something’s burning,” he says.</p><p>“Oh, by the <em>Fury</em>, the cakes!” Aymeric dashes to the oven, grabbing a tea towel, and opens the door to retrieve them. Estinien’s laughing again, because the sight of Aymeric, naked, bent over an oven to rescue his cake is the nameday gift he never knew he wanted.</p><p>“How do they look?” he asks, sauntering over.</p><p>Aymeric seems thoughtful. “Fine, actually,” he replies. “Mayhap a tad overdone. They need to cool, and then…” he trails off, surveying the remnants of the cake’s intended fillings. “Well, I suppose I shall have to redo the rest.” Estinien begins to snicker again, and Aymeric does too, and the two of them are laughing, covering their mouths with their palms, mildly mortified at their own debauchery.</p><p>“I suppose you shall,” Estinien manages to say.</p><p>Several hours later—following a frenzied dash through the back hallways to the nearest bathroom, no fewer than three washes of Estinien’s hair, and much vigorous scrubbing both of themselves and the kitchen—they are sitting at the dining room table after dinner, each with a piece of chocolate cake on a plate before them.</p><p>Estinien cuts a morsel with his fork, neatly slicing through piles of whipped cream and a drizzle of ganache, spearing a candied cherry on the end of the tines. He examines it, then looks over at Aymeric, who is watching him fondly, warmth and love soft on his handsome face.</p><p>“Happy nameday,” he says, and Estinien smiles.</p><p>“Indeed,” he replies. “’Tis not every day I get to have my cake…” He delicately bites the cherry off the end of the fork and holds it between his teeth, grinning lewdly at Aymeric, who blushes but laughs loudly nonetheless. “…And eat it, too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I do hope you all enjoyed your cake as much as Estinien did.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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